I’ve been going to church almost my entire life. I think my parents started bringing me when I was 1, maybe 2. And I’ve always gone to the same church, and have always had the same minister.

Growing up in a religious family, I always considered my religion a big part of my life. In fact, it’s one of the biggest parts of my life. The congregation is very small, so we all know each other. And although at times the women can get nosey, and the men can be rude, I will always consider them my second family. Reverend Bowers was always the mother of that family.

So many times I’ve thought about coming to her when I was losing my way. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to be an annoyance. I didn’t want to burden people with my problems when I wasn’t sure that they could comfort me. I wish I had come to her all those times now, maybe I would feel more confident about my situation if I had.

She was the only one who said that she was proud of me when I was confirmed. Not even my family paid any recognition to my confirmation, which was supposed to be a big event. But she had faith in me, she told me that I was a good person, and that she was happy for me. And when my friend killed herself earlier in the year, she was the only one who saw past my “I’m fine” and really knew when I was hurting bad.

If she hadn’t been my minister all these years, I wouldn’t be as proud of my church or my faith as I am. I love telling people that my Reverend is a women. A highly educated, strong woman. If it wasn’t for her, my church probably wouldn’t allow gay marriage, because she’s the one who proposed that we change our policy. She’s one of the most educated people I know, and she’s always carried herself with such poise that I can honestly say that I want to be just like her when I’m older.

I remember when my confirmation class had to run the service one week last year. It’s something every confirmation class does, just to see the amount of work put into one service. She assigned me the sermon, and I was so nervous and scared, but also proud that she wanted me to do such a major part of the service. When the day finally came, all my nerves dissapeared, because I knew that she did this every week, so I should be able to have the strength to do it once.

But she’s leaving us now.

She announced it one Sunday during service, instead of her regular sermon. Her face was red by the time she got to the podium, and I could tell that something was wrong. I assumed that someone in the church had passed away, so I began to brace myself for that. She told us that God was calling her away from the church, that she had been fighting it for a long time, but she couldn’t do it anymore. She started crying. I had never seen her cry before. During funerals, memorial services, she never cried. She was always a pillar of strength. I broke down. I remember being so confused. Why was God calling her away from me when I needed her the most? I’ve been through so much this past year that has made me question my faith, no matter how much I hate to admitt it. I needed her to guide me through it all, to tell me that God is still there for me. I still cry when I think about it.

But this Sunday will be her last. And I still don’t have any answers. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to live without hearing her sermons every week. She always semmed to be talking just to me during church. I could always relate to what she was preaching about. I won’t have that priviledge anymore. I hope that I’ll be able to hold on to my faith without her. But I don’t think I can do it.